


Get One Free

by Bronnwyn



Series: Kastle One-Shots [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, frank castle is totally in love with karen page pass it on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronnwyn/pseuds/Bronnwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God forbid Karen ruin her shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get One Free

**Author's Note:**

> Kastle is ruining my life. So here's this thing I wrote in 30 minutes. Enjoy.

This wasn’t about some misbegotten passion, fit for the pages of those ridiculous romance novels she always found herself reading on particularly lonely nights.  
  
This was about common decency.  
  
She couldn’t bring herself to believe—not wholly, anyway—that Frank Castle engaged in petty murder. Yes, he killed people. A lot of people. It wasn’t right and she didn’t agree with it, but she knew from personal experience that murder did not a psychopath make.  
  
Sometimes, a killing was a necessary thing.  
  
A gut reaction drudged from the most primal parts of the self.  
  
There were days when she’d look at her hands and still see Wesley’s blood, sticking to her fingers and seeping under her nails like grave dirt. No amount of scrubbing could absolve her of that particular sin. If it was even a sin to begin with. Matt would say so. The Church would say so. Hell, God himself would say so.  
  
But Frank Castle?  
  
Frank Castle didn’t say so.  
  
He never lied to her. He never once judged her, either.  
  
Honesty. Wasn’t that a virtue? A kind of sacrament few rarely pledged themselves to, herself included? In that way, Frank was virtuous. His truth came at a ghastly cost, and she didn’t completely understand it, but his darkness matched hers and it felt good.  
  
Yes.  
  
It felt damn good.  
  
Even when they were just having coffee.  
  
“Okay,” she said, scribbling her to-do list on the napkin she’d plucked from a nearby holder. “Laundry, dinner, milk, creamer…”  
  
She’d forgotten something. Crap. What had Foggy requested again? Carrots…cauliflower…candy…C something. C…  
  
She could feel Frank staring at her over the top of his mug.  
  
She glanced up from her napkin, for some reason embarrassed. “What?”  
  
“Nothin’,” he said in that gruff, quiet way of his. He was only ever quiet for her. It was flattering. Frank had killed dozens of people and indulged in ultraviolence the likes of which she really didn’t want to think about right now, but, hey, at least he was perfectly cordial to her, right?  
  
Christ.  
  
_That’s horrible_ , _Karen_ , she chastised herself.  
  
She got back to her list. C…able? C…aramel? C…ornbread?  
  
Oh. She missed cornbread. She wrote it down on her list. Cornbread. Maybe some soup for good measure. That’d be nice.  
  
“Cornbread?” Frank asked, putting his mug down. Still quiet. Rough around the edges.  
  
Warmth flooded her face. It was stupid. And he noticed. Great. “Yeah,” she said, attempting to hide her shy little smile behind an artfully placed hand. Get a grip, Karen. “Cornbread. My, ah…my mom used to make it a lot. Along with this vegetable soup. Heavy on the peas. But I always picked those out. She hated it when I did that, but…Kids, y’know?”  
  
Frank knew. She almost apologized for mentioning the K word—stupid, Karen, so stupid—but then he smiled. A quirk of his mouth that she couldn’t help but feel a prideful for. He had a nice smile. Counteracted all the bruising around his eyes, the broken crook of his nose.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the cracked faux-leather of the booth they sat in. “My girl, she, uh…Didn’t like broccoli. When my old lady was around I always had to, uh…get to her to eat it. Soon as we were alone, though, I let her throw it out.”  
  
Despite the pang of sadness that hit her every time Frank talked about his family, Karen found herself moving her hand away. Smiling without it. She didn’t say a word, and neither did he. They looked at each other across the table, smiling their faint, unashamed smiles…  
  
And then their waitress came, hoisting down plates of food. Frank ordered a platter of various breakfast items. Sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, hashbrowns. Karen ordered pancakes.  
  
They ate in silence, and when they were done, she took her napkin with her unfinished list on it and they went to leave. Frank held the door open for her.  
  
It was dark outside. As dark as it could get in the perpetually electric city. They walked down a relatively empty street, still quiet. She liked that about Frank. He never tried to fill the silence with white noise. He never said anything without deliberation.  
  
And he never, not once, lied to her.  
  
“Your hair naturally that color?” He asked as they rounded a corner. A dog barked from somewhere nearby.  
  
She nodded, suddenly very aware of their proximity. The sleeve of his coat kept brushing her bare arm. “Yep.”  
  
“Hm,” was all he had to say on that matter.  
  
They kept walking. Her apartment wasn’t far now. He probably shouldn’t have even been with her, given the circumstances, but he didn’t seem too concerned about any laws they might have possibly been breaking.  
  
Her heels clicked along the sidewalk.  
  
His hand shot out, rough with toil, and yanked her back.  
  
She stumbled, a dozen variations of “Frank, what the hell?” buzzing on the tip of her tongue. But then…  
  
They were close.  
  
Very, very close. So close that if she tilted her head up the right way, they’d be kissing. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.  
  
“Can I help you, Frank?” She asked, frowning to appear as annoyed as possible. God forbid she actually enjoy this. What would Foggy say? What would Matt say?  
  
Frank, face perfectly impassive, nodded at the ground. His hand remained on her wrist, skin pulsing with warmth. “Can’t have you ruinin’ your shoes, ma’am.”  
  
She looked to where he indicated. A puddle. Oh.  
  
Perhaps this wouldn’t be the best time to tell him that she got these shoes for free at Payless the other day. Buy one, get one free. A godsend on her “salary.”  
  
Instead, she did that thing for the second time tonight. She smiled and she blushed and she bowed her head until her naturally colored hair fell over her shoulder. Stupid, Karen. So stupid.  
  
And yet, in this moment, she didn’t care.  
  
“Thanks,” she said. “From me and, um, my shoes.”  
  
Frank smiled. Again. And he let her go. But he didn’t stray far.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said.  
  
Her apartment loomed to the left. She had a long day tomorrow and it would be smart to turn in. Her shoes were safe now, after all.  
  
“Goodnight, Frank,” she told him when the time came. She knew once he left this place that there was a chance he’d go and do something terrible. Something bloody and fatal. But, damn it, she didn’t care. She just didn’t care. How could she? He saved her cheap Payless shoes, for God’s sake.  
  
Frank sniffed, running the back of his hand over his nose. “Goodnight, ma’am.”  
  
_He kills people_ , a voice in her head whispered. _He’s a murderer, Karen!_  
  
Yes, he was a murderer. And so was she. Their shadows blended together on the concrete, a formless darkness in the yellow disc of the streetlight.  
  
Another urge hit her, then. A gut reaction drudged from the most primal parts of the self. It couldn’t be denied. Not this time.  
  
Smiling, she kissed him. Pressed her mouth against his ruddy cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. She decided that she liked it.  
  
“Bye, Frank,” she said.  
  
She went up to her apartment, deposited her napkin-list on the counter.  
  
All of ten minutes ticked by when a knock sounded on her door. That old and familiar sense of dread flared inside of her. Dark corners, dark corners. But that was a long time ago. She was better now. She could take care of herself. Whoever it was, she could handle them.  
  
That didn’t stop her from grabbing the nearest blunt object before she opened the door a crack.  
  
“Yes?” She asked, gripping the object much too tightly. TV remote. Not very threatening, but it would do in a pinch.  
  
The looming figure was quiet.  
  
The hall was too dim to see properly. Dark corners.  
  
“What do you want?” She demanded. She lifted the remote.  
  
The figure spoke. Softly. “You gonna take a swing at me with that thing?”  
  
She breathed. The remote fell to the floor with a clatter.  
  
It was Frank.


End file.
